Raising Little Sibby
by ChristinaMay
Summary: Just a collection of short moments with Tom and his daughter. A/N: First Downton fic, so please read and review so I can continue these as much as possible!
1. Present from Mammy

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Downton Abbey - I am not Julian Fellowes. If I was, I would never have killed sweet Sybil. k thnx. **

**Authors Note: **This is my first Downton Abbey fanfiction - but I am an avid reader of the fics and this week's episode (3x05) has urged me to write out some short, beautiful moments between Tom and his daughter. I will continue this for as long as possible. Please _read _and _review_!

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He refused to have his child in a separate room. It seemed that the little face of his newborn child was his sole comfort. He held the utmost appreciation to his wife's family for the amount of assistance that they lavished on him; Mary and Edith would come now and then to offer him food and his mother-in-law would come and talk with him whenever she could handle his relentless tears. However, it was his child that seemed to calm him to an extent – he would watch as she looked at him with wide, curious blue orbs that shimmered in the dim light of the bedroom; her little forehead would wrinkle whenever she yawned, her mouth forming a perfect circle as she nuzzled herself into her swaddle of blankets.

"I have a present for you," he murmured to her. Tom stroked her little pink cheeks and watched with amazement as she responded with a gummy smile. He took the tiny pair of woollen boots from his pocket – he had them in there since his wife went into labour, as she had instructed him to do so. Sybil had acquired many new talents since she moved to Ireland with him, but Tom had to admit that he was most impressed with her new knack for knitting that she had learnt from his mother.

"These are from your mammy." He uncovered the blankets so that he could pull the woollen boots over her little feet. "You see, she is looking after you still," he said to her with a smile that was clouded with sheer sadness. Tom pulled the blankets around his daughter and gathered her into his arms; he looked over at the bassinet in the corner of the room and frowned. It somehow felt _wrong _to leave her on her own in the dark corner of the bedroom; they were both alone now.

"Come on, sweetheart, don't fret. I'll look after you," he murmured to her gently as he heard the first few sniffles come from her. Her little nose was scrunched up in dissatisfaction and Tom realised how much she was like Sybil when she was like that. His heart felt like it had been wrenched out of his chest as he touched her button nose with a sad smile. "I don't think any other name would suit you, little one."


	2. Son-in-Law & Granddaughter

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Downton Abbey, and I am not Julian Fellowes. Nor would I wish to be at this present moment! **

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Cora had taken to wandering the halls of Downton. She had no particular place to be, and nor did she want the company of others in this dark time. She knew that she should be with her daughters; to hold them and tell them that it would become better with time. But she was not so sure of this fact. How could all be right in the world without her baby girl with her? It was like she had been thrown onto hot coals whenever her youngest daughter left the nest; but this pain felt more like a volcano had taken root inside her – it bubbled and burned constantly as her grief continued to stab at her. She knew just one person with whom she could converse.

Tom had never embraced the Crawley's enough to understand them; but Cora had become a confidante and a friend since Sybil's passing. Cora had a son now – no, not the kind that she had given birth to, but a son all the same. She adored Matthew and admired his love for her eldest daughter – but Tom was such a free spirit, and so like Sybil…she almost felt like she was with her whenever she was around Tom.

Cora knocked soundly on the door before she pushed it open. She would have expected the baby to be asleep in the bassinet and for Tom to be by the window as he almost always was – looking over his daughter and often weeping silently. However, she was met with quite a different scene that night.

Father and child were laid out on the bed – the exhaustion had finally caught up with them. His face was the picture of peacefulness as he fell into a deep slumber. The baby rested on the pillow next to him; it had been rearranged so that both parent and baby were on the same level. Tom's hand rested on the pillow and Cora gasped as she watched her granddaughter unconsciously grasp onto his thumb.

_They will be just fine_, she thought for the first time since Sybil's death. His child would keep him from insanity and he would take care of that baby like his life depended on it. She _was _worried about her son-in-law and granddaughter – now she was quite positive that they would survive this darkness.


	3. A Letter from Granny Branson

**DISCLAIMER: I am not Julian Fellowes, I do not own Downton. IF I DID, WE WOULD NOT BE IN MOURNING, duh. **

**A/N: **I think that most of these chapters will be random, but thought I would add in the perspective of Tom's mother when she hears about the news of Sybil's death, but also the birth of her grandchild.

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My Dearest Boy,

I have searched for words this last hour and still I can't seem to express my sorrow. I think that devastation is the only word to describe the atmosphere in Dublin. Oh, how I wish that you were here, son. You have no idea how much I want to take you into my arms and comfort you in this hour of sadness and loss. I know how much the grief hurts in your mind, for I didn't leave my bedroom for a week when your Da passed. You were my rock, son. I couldn't believe how strong you were then and how weak I was – I was the parent and yet I felt as frail as a child during the wake. As much as I wish that I could be there with you, I know that you have the strength to carry on.

I think the sole reason I survived your Da's death, was because I had mouths to feed and children to love. How would my children feel without their Ma or their Da? I need you to promise me that you will look after that baby as Sybil intended. That girl was adamant that the little one would be the luckiest baby in the world – and even though my granddaughter no longer has her mother to care for her, she will still be the luckiest girl in the world, for she has my son as her father.

Do you remember when Kathleen fell and scraped her knee? Oh God, I can never forget the concentration on your face when you tended to her. You are the most attentive being in this world, Tom Branson, and I need you to carry on for that little girl. Your wife did not die in vain, because look at the beauty she produced at the end. You hold that baby in your arms and remember what she gave you, my boy.

I wish I had the words that would make you feel better – like when I would sing to you as a boy, but not even my lullabies will ease the pain this time, Tommy. I will grieve the loss of my sweet daughter-in-law, and your brothers have arranged a celebration to her memory at the pub down the road. We wouldn't abandon her without an Irish send-off, because she was just as much a part of this family as you are. I will miss her dearly. And I will miss you, my beautiful boy. But it won't be long now until Freedom, and then you must tell that little girl to get ready to see her Granny.

I send all my love,

Your Mother.


	4. Midnight Walks on Christmas Eve

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Downton Abbey, I have borrowed these characters and made them all happy and stuff!**

**A/N: **There is quite a time jump in this chapter, but I will be doing a lot of snapshots surrounding Tom and his daughter, so if you continue to review, then I will continue to write!

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It was the sound of little feet on the floorboards that broke him from his dreams. He almost inwardly groaned when he heard the quiet snicker from the bedroom door; this had become a frequent ritual since his daughter had learnt the art of walking. Sybil had been quite hazardous as a newborn, for even as a baby she would make an attempt to stand in her crib as she wailed for someone to come and lavish attention on her. However, the tables turned whenever the little baby started to crawl – her face was scrunched in avid concentration as she crawled towards her desired destination; this was usually towards her father's feet so that she could wrap her chubby little arms around him for dear life. It seemed that little Sibby Branson had become quite as attached to her father as he had become to her; they were inseparable.

But we must remember the curiosity of a child, and Sybil had more than just that – she _adored_ the adventures that her feet would take her on. It had been a nightmare as soon as she was old enough to walk and now at two years old, she had become a master at such a skill.

Tom could admit that it had been hard in the first year – the constant wails of his child reminded him of the absence of her mother; her face was a sheer representation of his wife's beauty and kindness and the continuous presence of the nurse alerted him to the fact that it should be his wife holding and feeding their baby. Despite these dark thoughts that roamed around in his mind, he made a promise to little Sibby one night.

He did not wake the nurse; he could handle his own child. Tom stroked her crimson cheek with a small smile as her whimpering lowered; her face was wet with salty tears and he leant down to kiss them away from her little face.

"I once promised your mother that I would devote every waking moment to her happiness, and I'll make you the same promise, sweetheart," he murmured to her in his soft Irish lilt.

The baby looked at him with wide, curious blue orbs – but her whimpers had soon diminished and instead she was enthralled with her father's voice as he continued to speak to her into the night. Tom would not rest until his child was in the peaceful, harmless world of slumber and dreams once more. The mere sound of her cries seemed to pierce into his heart; it reminded him of _that _moment, when his wife took her last breath and left this world for the next. And Tom remained true to his promise as he took over the full care of his daughter and grew with her for the next two years – he would still see Sybil in her face, but that made her all the more precious.

He was pulled back into the present when he felt a little hand on his nose. Tom opened one eye and peeked at the grinning face of his daughter. Her laugh was almost musical as he closed his eyes once more and pretended to sleep again.

"No sleep daddy!" It was a command; and he expected no less from his daughter.

Tom could feel the smile ease onto his face as he heard her. He reached out and immediately caught the little girl by the waist, pulling her onto the bed next to him. She kicked and squealed with amusement as Tom tickled her sides.

"Look at the time. I'm sure Father Christmas won't be pleased to hear that you have been wandering around in the big house," he warned her; but his tone was soft and Sybil merely threw her nose in the air.

"No sleep all alone!" She insisted as her little pink lips formed a perfect pout. It had become a tradition for her to stay with her father on Christmas Eve; however, it was most nights when she heard him crying that she would climb into bed next to him. Sybil would pat his cheek and give him a toothy smile. _I'm here, daddy._

Tom smiled at her persistence and pulled the blankets around his little pearl; it reminded him so much of when he would hold her as a newborn. She would be swaddled in the blankets against his chest and he would swear an oath to tell her all about her wonderful mother.

Her chestnut curls were wild and untamed, and Tom could swear that in the dim light of the bedroom, he could see the utter resemblance between his wife and child. Her nightgown was wrinkled and he could see her woollen boots tucked in the little pocket – Sybil was coarse with her toys, but she carried about those tiny boots with her as if they were the most precious diamonds in the world. _Mammy's present_ is what she called them and seemed to pull them out to show everyone she met. It still brought tears to his eyes, but he survived along with little Sibby.

"No being sad!" Tom didn't realise that some stray tears had escaped and rolled down his cheeks as he gazed down at his sweet little girl.

"I'm not sad, sweetheart, I'm so happy," he responded with a small smile.

Sybil's brow wrinkled as she looked at him in amazement. _Silly daddy,_ she often thought. She leant forward and pressed a kiss to his nose.

"I love you forever and ever, daddy."

This had become her phrase to him almost every night, and he still grinned each time she said it. Tom reached out to stroke her wild curls and watched as she nuzzled into the blankets next to him; her little hand clutched onto his.

"I do love you so much, my darlin'."

When Tom looked down at her, she was fast asleep.


	5. Present for Daddy

**DISCLAIMER: I am not Julian Fellowes - however, I like to play around with the future of Downton!**

**A/N: **I'm sorry if this story is falling a bit, I am supposed to be writing an essay but wrote this instead! I know that all the facts won't be right, but I think that it is all so adorable and I will continue to write if you continue to read & review! (: Thank you to all my lovely reviewers and followers already!

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It was safe to assume that Tom Branson was dead to the world whenever his head hit the pillow at the end of a stressful day. It was the same in his married life; his beautiful wife would complain that he loved his bed much more than he loved her. However, he learnt that his peaceful slumber would not remain so serene whenever his little toddler rose to meet the morning. She usually adored the softness of the duvet and threw her arms covetously around him whenever she crept into his bed, but Christmas morning was on a different level.

Little Sybil tossed and turned all night, despite the fact that her head felt heavy and she found it difficult to keep her glassy eyes open for more than a minute. She squirmed around in the blankets and eventually pulled at them until they slid away from her poor father and swaddled around the two-year-old comfortably.

Tom had turned around in the middle of the night, to find his daughter drowning in a puddle of blankets on the vast bed. Her wild curls were billowed out on the plush pillow and her little thumb was stuck happily in her mouth. He raised an eyebrow at the adorable scene, but still the cold air made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and he gazed over at the little Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

He had never planned on spending Christmas at Downton – no, he would have preferred to stay in the little flat that he had rented a few months previous. It was miniature, but it was quaint and Sybil had enough room to play. However, when the letter came from his mother-in-law to invite them both for Christmas, he found that he could not refuse. The house held such memories of his late wife – it was where their young love had blossomed, but it was also the place in which she took her last breath.

It was his little Sybil that kept him sane in this house. She adored the endless corridors and all the adventures within the house; she would stand for hours and admire the massive tree in the hall. However, she insisted that they would have their own little tree in the room – she liked it when it was just the two of them. He would allow her to put up the few little baubles that they owned and then she would place the Angel on the Christmas tree with a toothy smile.

"Oh, a pretty angel…" she murmured whenever she stared up at the decoration with wide, innocent blue orbs. "Just like mammy!"

Tom stared at the Angel now as he lay in bed. Her dress sparkled glamorously in the dim moonlight that filtered through the thin curtains and the halo on her head was prominent – he was pleased that Sybil would remember her mother, but it broke his heart whenever she would become upset over the loss of her mother.

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"Did I kill mammy?" She asked him one day.

It was like his insides had been pulled out of him. He fell to his knees in front of his nervous child and held her little face between his palms; he kissed her button nose.

"No, sweetheart, of course not…" His voice faltered, but he managed to continue as he noticed that large, dripping tears fell down her pink cheeks. "Your mother wanted you more than anything else in the world, but sometimes things just…go wrong."

"Danny from downstairs…he said that…that I killed mammy!"

Tom cursed the older boy that lived in the flat downstairs. He lingered around his daughter, and his over-protective side could be rather unfortunate for the boy. Tom had once explained to Sybil that her mother died shortly after she was born, but that she mustn't blame herself, because it was time for her mammy to leave this world.

He could do nothing but pull her into his arms and whisper in her ear until she calmed down. Her little hands clutched onto the lapels of his jacket and she did not move until her sobs had calmed down.

"I miss mammy sometimes, even if she doesn't know me."

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The two-year-old awoke the next morning with an immediate grin. Sybil scrambled out of the duvet until her little feet touched the carpet; her nightgown billowed behind her as she ran towards the window and peered out into the vast grounds of Downton. There was a thin blanket of snow on the ground and this seemed to spur on more excitement for the child as she pressed her little palm against the window in awe. She wanted to do nothing more than to pull out her little boots and her gloves and wake her father to play in the snow, but she didn't want him to be grumpy with her.

Sybil walked steadily over to the Christmas tree and bent down so that she would climb right underneath it; she had hidden her father's present at the very back. She thought herself rather smart to hide it, as he wouldn't expect it that way! Her aunt Edith had assisted her in wrapping it up, but still the childish tears in the paper was enough to give away the perpetrator.

She wandered back over to the bed and leant over so that she could press a kiss on her father's nose, as she often did. His nose twitched for a moment, and then he slowly opened his eyes to gaze at his little daughter as she thrust the present in his face.

"It's Christmas, daddy!"

"So I can see," he responded with a light chuckle. Tom arose from bed until he was sat on the edge of the bed; Sybil allowed him no time to wake as she immediately climbed onto his lap and thrust the present under his nose once more.

"Is this for me?" he asked with a surprised smile. Sybil nodded innocently.

Tom looked at his daughter with a curious expression, but still he humoured her. He gently tore at the crimson paper until he revealed a small canvas; he recognized it as one of the presents that was given to her by her grandmother for her birthday. However, she seemed to have found a use for it as he turned it around to reveal a childlike drawing.

"I painted you a picture, daddy!" Sybil gave him a wide grin and pointed at it. "We don't have a family picture, so I painted it!"

He could feel the tears well in his eyes. He could make out three figures on the canvas; however, it was hard to tell who was who. It was obvious that the little girl had spent quite some time on her painting, but she still hadn't mastered the art of _not _smearing her little fingerprints all over the canvas. He assumed that the brown smudges were intended to be his usual work suit, and the tiny figure in the corner was his daughter – the third figure was not hard to guess.

"I painted mammy! She looks like the Angel on the tree!" she exclaimed proudly.

In the childlike picture, his daughter was holding hands with the Angel. He did not know how he kept the tears in at that moment, but his daughter's smiling face was looking at him expectantly and all he could do was pull her into his arms.

"It's the best present in the world, sweetheart."


End file.
